


Kiss the Cook

by CSM



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 15:28:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4397243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CSM/pseuds/CSM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a mishap in the kitchen Felicity convinces Oliver to cook for her wearing a tiny little apron and only that apron. Takes place during their domestic bliss after season 3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss the Cook

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was prompted by Bre and is a continuation of her fic that she posted on tumblr which was in response to Stephen's pic with the mini batman. You don't need to read that fic to follow this, but you should read it cause its EPIC.

The front door barely has time to shut behind them before she finds herself up against the wall, her flip-flops slipping off her feet and she squeaks out in surprise. She grips Oliver’s shoulders automatically, her feet tangling in the air as she tries to catch her breath.

She nudges him in the shoulder, but the movement barely causes him to flinch. His blue eyes bore into her and filled with mischief. His thigh slides between her bare legs the soft material of his sweatpants brushing against the edges of her shorts.  Her breath hitches when he presses her into the wall, the rough metal buckle of his hoodies scrapes against the exposed curve of her breast making her gasp. Oliver’s nose is now inches away from her face, his hot breath tickling her skin and she can’t help but huff in annoyance at smug expression on his face.  She can feel the dampness of his sweat soaked clothes against her bare skin and her nose wrinkles in disgust.

“Oliver!” She admonishes. Sweaty, sticky clothes aside she can’t deny the fact that his solid thigh pressed between her legs is creating _delicious_ friction. “You’re all sweaty and _gross_.”

“You said you’d do the laundry. I’m just helping you out of these clothes,” Oliver says cheekily.

He loosens his hold on her and she slides down the wall just a fraction, enough so that she’s fits more snuggly against his thigh and she can’t help but gasp in response.

Oliver’s fingers trail up her sides, tugging the soft material of her tank top as he goes, but she plants her hands firmly on his shoulders and does not allow him access. She smirks in triumphant at his incredulous expression.

"I recall _you_ promising to cook for me on in a certain apron and _then_ I offered to do the laundry. _My_ clothes weren't the ones that were factored into this equation. You’re the one that stinks."  She barely can revel in her retort when Oliver shifts leg and presses his thigh more firmly against her and her treacherous body deceives her when she moans involuntarily.

She growls in frustration at Oliver’s triumphant smirk. " _Technically._ You asked me to cook for you and I offered to wear that apron of yours _if_ you did the laundry. Ergo, _you_ gotta lose the clothes."

"Semantics," Felicity says dismissively, eyes narrowing when Oliver rocks his hip gently against her yet again and her body stiffens.

She’s pretty certain they are both wrong in this instance, but she enjoys the verbal spars as much as he does.  All right, she’s certain she’s more upset at herself for responding so easily to a perfectly timed smile from the man. She needs to stop relenting and let him _work_ for it.

She can't fold her arms over her chest like she would like so instead she folds them and rests them on _his_ chest leveling him with her worst glare. Oliver's smile only widens in amusement. She huffs in annoyance. "Oliver, you wear that apron and I'm guaranteeing you sex."

"You're telling me that in this very moment sex _isn't_ on the table?"

“ _No!”_ Now she just wants to slap the smug grin off of the jerk’s face, cause damn him. “You can’t throw that stupid smile at me and get what you want. I’m putting my foot down!”

They both look down at her feet that are still dangling in the air and she huffs out in exasperation, “ _Metaphorically_. I’m putting my foot down metaphorically.”

Oliver only bites his lip, clearly trying and _failing_ to hold back his laughter. She slaps him on the chest. “Don’t laugh. I’m being serious here.”

“All right.”

He tries to keep a straight face but ends up breaking out into silent laughter. She should be upset but despite the fact that they have been together just over 5 months she still marvels at the man Oliver has become. Six months ago she didn’t think he would ever smile again, and now here they are standing in the foyer of their _house_ laughing and teasing each other.

She’ll forever cherish these moments with him.

She tilts her head to the side looking at him with adoration, Oliver pauses mid laugh to look at her curiously, no doubt wondering about her sudden shift in mood. She grabs him by the cheeks and smiles widely, “I love you.”

She kisses him softly, not waiting for a response, when they pull back they are slightly breathless and he presses his forehead against hers and huffs out a soft laugh, “I’ll go find the apron.”

“Oh! I lied before, _now_ I love you,” she teases. At Oliver’s affronted expression she only giggles and kisses him briefly yet again.

“Only want me for my body. I get it,” He says petulantly, pout and all.

He’s _joking_.

They are both well aware that he’s joking, but Oliver Queen cracking any kind of joke still takes her by surprise after all this time. Her boyfriend apparently has a _wicked_ sense of humor and he always catches her by surprise. This time she barks out a laugh, throwing her head back against the wall, not denying his weak accusation. After he lowers her gently to the floor, she takes a step forward and wraps her arms around his torso grabbing his ass squeezing it firmly. His surprised expression only making her giggle, “you know it’s all about the booty.”

“Don’t call it that.” Oliver grumbles, his nose wrinkling in disgust, which causes her to giggle yet again.

He’s also apparently very particular about certain words when describing body parts. She wanted to name his penis, granted she was slightly drunk at the time, but he vetoed that almost immediately

She takes a step back and raises an eyebrow at him expectantly. Oliver just shakes his head and turns around, but she almost runs smack into him when he halts in his spot and spins around to face her, a mischievous grin on his face. At her curious expression he only wiggles his eyebrows in return. He then tugs off both his hoodie and t-shirt and in one swoop tosses it at her. She barely has time to gather his clothes before he’s stepping out of his sweatpants as well, that too joining the small pile of clothes in her arms.

“You did say you’d do the laundry.” He calls out cheekily before he walks off towards the kitchen.  

“Ass.” She hisses softly, she looks up just in time to see his bare ass turn the corner and slip into the kitchen. She is so surprised she misses his sailing boxers until it hits her right in the face. “Two can play this game, Mr. Queen.”

She grumbles all the way down to the basement plotting her revenge as she goes. She tosses in Oliver’s clothes adding in a few of their other workout clothes that they usually leave hanging in the laundry room to air dry. By the time she enters the kitchen, the entire house smells like cinnamon.

She rounds the corner only to be greeted with Oliver’s bare ass, the small strings of the apron just resting on the dimples above his ass cheeks. She watches mesmerized for a moment as his ass cheeks clench as he tosses a pancake in the air adding it to a pile on the side. Hot naked man cooking her pancakes, her dreams come true.

“There it is,” she practically whistles in appreciation. She takes a seat on one of the barstools directly opposite of the stove to ensure she has a front row seat her eyes roaming his broad back, but return to his ass once again.

Oliver shakes his head looking at her over his shoulder briefly before turning back to the stove. “I think we need to enlist some kind of rule with this apron.”

Felicity giggles at his disgruntled tone, remembering all to well the only reason he wore the apron the last time. They really are both too competitive for their own good. “I thought the rule was to follow the instructions on said apron, and if I remember correctly, I kept to my word.”

Oliver huffs out a small laugh as he flips the pancake and once the stove is off he turns around to face Felicity fully. Felicity whistles yet again as she takes in the little scrap of material she called an apron. The white material is only large enough to hide the good stuff, as she likes to say, and hangs loosely on Oliver’s hips. She licks her lips at the indentation of his hip muscles as they disappear under the white material and scrawled across in a green front is _Kiss the Cook._

She actually _cackled_ when she came across this in a little thrift store a few blocks away from their house. She thought at first it was for a small child and almost did not buy it, not wanting to give Oliver the wrong idea, but then the little old lady Mrs. Jefferson told her it was of the _naughty_ variety and Felicity couldn’t _not_ buy it especially after Mrs. Jefferson took one look at Oliver and told Felicity it would be a crime for Felicity _not_ to take it. It started off as a joke, but then spiraled into an epic competition of sheer will power in which Oliver failed terribly at and was thus forced to wear it for her while he cooked her favourite Italian dish.

“Do I not follow orders, Mr. Queen?” She asks saucily  

Her finger tips dance along his bare hip just before she tugs him towards her to stand between her legs. Her fingers rake against the curve of his ass and she watches in fascination as the apron jumps and twitches at her ministrations. Oliver grunts softly, his hands moving to rest on her shoulders and he tugs on a blond curl lightly.

“Stop trying to distract me.”

“Says the naked guy only wearing an apron,” Felicity retorts playfully. “I should get a medal for not jumping you yet.”

“Hold that thought, Lust Muffin,” Oliver teases but jumps in surprise when Felicity pinches one of his ass cheeks. He sends her a warning glare before he continues, “I just think when if I wear this get up for you, it’s only fair I get one of my own. It’s Halloween after all.”

Felicity eyes twinkle at his words and she sits up straighter to listen, her attentiveness making Oliver chuckle, “I’m listening. I’m assuming you already have something in mind, but I will warn you that given the mishap this morning with _my_ pancakes, an apron would not work for me.”

“Yea, we’ll leave all of the cooking up to me,” Oliver says with a laugh.

He tucks a lock of hair around her ear and looks at her almost shyly. He’s standing in front of her wearing the tiniest apron to exist _naked_ and yet he’s look at her all shy and nervous. She may have just fallen in love with him even more.

“Remember that library we went to a few weeks ago, the one in the castle?” Felicity frowns unsure where he’s going with this but nods nonetheless. “I left you for a minute to go outside to take Thea’s call…”

“Oliver, I’m not sure if I like where this going…you bring up Thea…”

“ _Felicity!”_ Oliver blanches in disgust actually taking a step back from her, “Why did you have to go and do _that_?”

Felicity raises her hands in defense laughter bubbling up at his reaction, “Sorry. Go on.”

“No. You ruined the moment.” Oliver is pouting this time, honest to god _pouting_ at her. His arms folded across his chest and she can’t help but watch the way his biceps flex at the movement.

“Oliver, don’t be a baby,” Felicity admonishes.  She looks at him pointedly, and as always he relents and takes a step towards her.

“I found you in front of the little desk, with a bunch of books in front of you. You’d found some history book about…”

“…the first computer. I’m still upset they wouldn’t let me borrow. What’s the point of a library if I can’t…”

“Felicity.”

“Right, sorry. Go on.”

“You were wearing this white button up shirt with the little collar and your hair was in a bun and you were fixing your glasses….”

“ _Oliver_ , do you have a _librarian_ fantasy?” Felicity teases. She dances her fingers along the curves of his abs shivering when his pupils dilate.

“I want you in just your glasses and that shirt,” Oliver confesses his voice hitching when Felicity’s fingers move towards his ass, her nails scraping his skin yet again.

She looks up at him with a cheeky smile, “you do realize that’s just my _normal_ look around the house? I mean I can hold a book or something, but it’s no different than if I had a tablet.”

“Maybe you’re just my fantasy come to life?” Oliver whispers

“Aren’t you smooth…” Her comment dies on her lips when Oliver leans over to kiss her.

She nips at his lips, her fingers digging into his flesh as she tugs him closer to her. She slides off the stool, rising on her tiptoes to nip at his jaw, kissing his neck slowly. Her hands slowly run down his chest playing with the edge of the apron. She blows lightly on the red skin, feeling the way his body shivers. “I do believe I was requested to kiss the _cook_.”

She kisses his jaw one last time and then sinks to her knees, but before her knees can hit the titled floor, Oliver has his hand under arm stopping her midway. She looks at him in confusions but he leans over her and grabs one of the padded tablemats tossing it on the ground.  Her always thoughtful boyfriend. She grins at him impishly before she lowers herself to her knees.

She licks her lips watching in fascination, as the apron is pulled taunt in front of her. She looks at the words straining against the material, then up at her boyfriend coyly. She leans is and presses a chaste kiss against the bulge of the apron, Oliver soft moans making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on edge. Oliver’s hands are resting on her bare shoulder, but she can feel the way his fingers twitch against her skin, and she knows he’s as eager as she is.

She moves her hands up his bare thighs, fingernails scraping against his skin and his thigh muscles contract as she moves. She moves to the thin string holding up the flimsy apron and tug at it lightly grinning when the white material falls to the grown easily. Oliver’s erection bobs in front of no longer constrain and when she blows on tip lightly he hisses in response.

His grip tightens on her shoulders, but he does not push her otherwise. She slowly licks the small bit of pre-cum gathered at his tip, and she can feel the way Oliver’s ass clenches under her fingers. She swipes her tongue along his length, taking her time to swirl it around the head. Oliver’s hips jerks at her movements while he softly moans out her name.

She slowly lowers her lips along his length taking him in inch by inch, Oliver’s fingers have moved from her shoulder to grip the back of her head and he slowly guides her with the minimalist of pressure. She tightens her hold on his thighs, allowing him to take control for a moment. She hollows her cheeks and adds the barest hint of pressure with her lips as Oliver hips jerk in reaction.

She grabs the base, twists it slowly as she moves her head up and down, her lips alternating suction as she goes. Oliver begins to pant her name, his fingers pressing into her scalp and she knows he’s close. She begins to pick up her pace, using the way he calls her name and the pressure he puts on the back of her head as a guide to know not take him over the edge just quite yet.

When his hips begin to move erratically and he presses a bit forcefully at the back of head she knows its time to stop teasing him. She runs her teeth along the underside of his length and Oliver’s body jerks forcefully her name dying on his lips as he comes undone. She moves her head slowly once he’s rode out his orgasm and before she can stand up Oliver hooks her under the arms and hoists her onto the nearest counter top.

He kisses her with vigor, his fingers already yanking off her shorts and panties in one forceful tug. He pushes her tank top over her breasts and engulfs the already harden nipple, his stubble grazing against her skin as he presses wet kisses along her heated skin. She throws one leg over his shoulder, her heel digging into his back only encouraging him.  His tongue leaves a wet trail from the curve of her breast to her belly button.

She pants out his name when he slips his tongue between her bellybutton; he knows very well that is a turn on for her. She grips his hair inching him further south but suddenly they both freeze when her stomach practically roars in displeasure.

“Oh god, “ Felicity moans, but this time in embarrassment.

Oliver shakes with laughter over her, his face now buried in her stomach. He presses a chaste kiss to her stomach and then looks up at her a twinkle in his eye, “maybe I should feed you first.”

“I told you my attempt at pancakes was me reaching desperate measures, especially since you weren’t back yet,” Felicity says her face still red in embarrassment. She grabs the edge of the tank top and tosses it to the floor with the rest of her clothes. Naked breakfast seems to be a norm for them it seems.

“Maybe really should by that box of candy disguised as cereal, for you. I wouldn’t want you to starve to death, or you know kill yourself trying to feed yourself.” Oliver jokes.

Did she say she likes that her boyfriend jokes now? Yea she takes it back.

“Don’t be dissing my Lucky Charms.”

At her annoyed look Oliver simply laughs and pecks her on the lips before he grabs the plate of now cold pancakes. He moves to stand between her parted legs and places the plate between them, already tearing off a piece for her. “Fuel up Ms. Smoak. I have plans for you.  All day plans that require a full stomach.”

Her body shivers in anticipation but she opens her mouth nonetheless and allows him to feed her. Her second attempt of cooking has yet again worked in her favour.

 

 

 


End file.
